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Aris In all honesty, coming out this way was probably Aristide's best idea all week. And by best, we mean, of course, least bad. She'd been pointed this way by a few townsfolk after asking where someone might get patched up this time of evening, with the sun barely still peeking up over the western horizon.

The dark haired woman comes up the cobbled drive on foot now, having left her white mare but not her shotgun at the entrance. For the most part, her brown and denim clothing is dusty and unremarkable, but a bright bloom of red along her right ribs probably hints at her motive for being here. Wary, she comes up into the screened front porch and tentatively knocks on the door. Her hand smears blood on it.
Bart Bartholomew Caden Knox can be found on the family property, several people have likely recommended the bruised and battered former raiderette go on down Wayne road to find the crazy scientist. A few of them refer to him as 'Doctor' just to add to the mystique.

Today he is tending little plants that are growing in the garden. He's humming something old-timey to them as he prunes and waters each individual shrub. A canny Wastelander would probably recognize the plant as Weed, but the rainbow hues sparkling across the leaves are something else entirely. Oblivious to the trespasser, he goes about his business while Aris knocks on the front door like a polite person. Answering the door is an older woman in a maid's uniform, she sees the blood and makes a face while calling out, "Master Bartholomew, you have a patient," in an irritated tone as she goes back inside leaving the door open while she fetches cleaning supplies.

Bart looks up and blinks from behind his broken spectacles before offering Aris a polite nod, "Coming," he announces before setting the watering can on the dirt and simply stomping up the porch and in, "This way please," he says clinically, while leading her into the house, up the stairs and into the attic-turned-lab.
Aris The woman had completely disregarded the man watering the... is that a weed plant?... figuring he was the hired help, like rich folk have. Hell, she was hired help. But when the older woman calls for him, Aris turns to watch him flit past her and into the house. She frowns, her appearance and large weapon apparently having no impact, but follows anyways.

Once her boots hit metal, the dark haired woman pauses, gray eyes wide as she slowly takes inventory of the room. Her gaze settles on the spectacled man. "... Didn't mention it before 'cause I reckoned you knew, but I need a -doctor-," she relates to him, gesturing to her bloody wound. Although it's no longer bleeding, it looks bad, like some sort of bite or puncture wound.
Bart He is rather easily disregarded, it's why he's probably lived this long. The mousey hair, the pale skin, he's obviously a nerd. With those glasses he might as well have a sign on his back that says kick me. At least until they reach the landing of the laboratory. His gait straightens some and he moves over to the examination bed to remove what looks like a personal cannon. There's gauss rifles, and then there's Bart's Rail Rifle. Big difference.

A glance back over his shoulder as she points out her bite marks and he wrinkles his nose a little bit. "Well, I had gathered that since Alberta mentioned a patient," he says as he hefts the gun from the medical bed over to set it on his work bench instead. "Kindly remove all metal objects from your person - yes, zippers count," he heads that one off at the pass as he brings a clean sheet over the bed and sets down one of those amazing gowns that just ties behind and leaves the butt exposed, "If you require something to cover yourself," he notes before setting a heavy looking blindfold onto the folded cloth, "You'll be putting these on before the procedure." He's already toddling off to fetch his pristine lab coat and wheeling what looks like a TV screen on a metal stand.
Aris Admittedly, the dark haired woman's eyes had rested a little too long on that rail rifle, her expression a little too close to adoration. But his words distract her, pulling her back to the present, and she suddenly realizes what he's asking her to do. "Hold on for just a damn second," she says, hoping her words stop his industrious way of walking to and fro, fetching this and that. Once she's convinced he's listening intently, she muses, "You're a doctor?" She eyes him skeptically, a rare bit of humor even evident in her gaze.
Bart Who doesn't look at Velma and get a little bit chubby in the man or lady parts? Souless creatures of the abyss, that's who. She is settled down with the tender care she deserves before his focus shifted back to Aris. He's still bustling about, preparing like he's going to perform some kind of procedure. There's a bit of impatience when she stops him and the shuffling feet come to a halt for a moment, the creaking wheels of the monitor stopping as well. "Hm? What? You need to be healed, yes? I can do that," he explains without actually answering the question, but it's all perfectly logical to him. That clinical impatience surfaces again and he pushes the thing up next to the bed and moves to plug it into his main power hub, the thing buzzes and blinks to life with lights and read outs across the screen. "Do you wish to be rid of that injury?" he asks in a preposition that isn't meant to be answered, "Then out with the metal, and onto the table," he insists. Like 'here we go, doing the thing, let's go...'.
Aris In all his hustling and bustling, the "doc" may or may not notice the young woman approaching him. She doesn't stop until she's close-- closer than courtesy would dictate, for sure-- still holding that shotgun in one hand. Her body blocks escape, gray eyes finding blue. Her lips finally part to speak. "You telling me people actually get on that table without you telling them what the hell it is?" Aris asks incredulously.
Bart Bart is suddenly stopped. His progress halted entirely by the short and fit woman who seems bigger in person, probably that gun. But intimidation tactics have a strange effect on the logic based scientist, he takes into consideration the shotgun, then the woman. Gazes meet in the middle, and he reaches a hand up between them so that he can push those spectacles up the bridge of his nose, rising higher to adjust the goggles always perched atop, mussing his hair further. "I'm telling you that people who come here looking to be healed get on that table and leave feeling better. I could try to explain to you the use of positively charged ions in a focused particle beam to stimulate your cells into finding multiplicity before being frozen into a solid state thus healing you at an accelerated rate. Or you could simply remove the metal from your person, lie down on the table and allow me to perform the procedure. If you do not feel better by the end of it, you can pay in buck shot instead of caps."
Aris Up close like this, it's almost guaranteed that he can see her eyes glaze over at the phrase 'positively charged ions'. He's lost her, and she's smart enough to know it. "Fuck," the still-yet-nameless woman sighs, setting her shotgun down on some nearby surface. She side eyes the horrible gown he'd placed on the table before. "Not puttin' that on, though," she argues, finding one bit of stubornness she can cling to in this situation. Stepping out of her dusty boots, the girl wriggles out of her metal-studded jeans without reservation, tossing them onto her shotgun. She glances down at herself, looking for any more metal.
Bart Bart just smiles, because he's made his point and it is received - well or not it doesn't seem like he cares, the point being made is the thing. The smile disappears just as quickly and he steps out of her way so that she can do the hippity-hop out of boots and jeans. While she does that, he's reached up to the rather large device on the end of a hydrolic arm so that it comes down towards the bed to hover just above. It looks something like a car engine with dials and switches with coils and inner lights. A series of lenses ends the device while a set of cables winds upwards into the ceiling above. "Your choice," he states, taking back the gown but leaving the blindfold. While she's glancing at herself, he pauses to double check, "Any piercings, charms or rings as well."
Aris "Oh," she murmurs when he mentions jewelry, glancing downwards toward her neck. She reaches into her bloodied shirt and pulls out a tarnished old locket, silver with a white star. Placing it delicately onto the table with the rest of her metal effects, she hauls her small weight up onto the table. Her eyes settle on him again as she sits there, holding up the blindfold with brows raised like, 'the hell is this, dude'?
Bart The blindfold is heavy in the hand, like it's lined with some kind of soft metal perhaps? It feels weighted enough to be. Must be something else since he insisted on no metal being on her person, right? Right. Bartholomew nods as the locket appears on the table and she climbs in. The monitor is wheeled to her flank about where the puncture wound is and he studies it for a moment. Only words and strange circles appear on the screen from her side. When he is satisfied, he pushes it away and brings his goggles down over his eyes. "Blindfold on, please." He's flicking a few switches and the engine starts powering on. A low thrum inside starts churning like something gathering speed. The lights flicker on and slowly the air pressure in the room begins to rise slightly. The glow eventually becomes an incandescent red as it charges up. He's adjusting it, the lenses aimed at her torso where she was bitten, or clawed.
Aris Nose wrinkling at his answer, the dark haired woman slowly settles herself down onto the table anyway. The motion elicits a grunt from her, likely due to that nasty bite wound that's now bloodying up his pristine table. She carefully stretches her now-bare legs out along the table's length, holding that blindfold above her eyes just long enough to level a long look promising pain, lots of pain, if this goes south, before putting it on. She's now reclined completely, her only movement the rise and fall of her chest with unsteady breath. "It'll hurt," she muses, not exactly a question.
Bart Shockingly enough, she's right! Aris, however is probably the first one who's realized that the easy fast way comes at a price, a small one! He's still working on it alright? Mad Bart coos a little at his machine, though it might be mistaken for a sound of soothing meant for her. "Of course it will," he states so very matter of factly, but there's an /almost/ purring quality to his tone. What she can't see is the machine reaching its feverish pitch, perhaps the glow coming from behind that blind fold might be hint enough right before it slams through the lenses and finds her body. It burns, like being stung by a hundred bees in the same spot - or at least it feels like the same spot as the nerves catch up to the fast-as-light particles. Something feels almost like a vibration as her cells aggitate into rapid reconstruction. Almost as fast as it started, it's over, and the lights turn down and the machine whirrrrrs to a stop, metal clicking as it cools. The feeling in her gut though? It fades to a pleasant warmth that dissipates to nothingness, she just is.
Aris Even with a pain tolerance honed by previous lines of work *achem*, the dark haired girl still cries out when -whatever it is- hits her square in the wound. She squirms hard on the table, the blindfold dislodging itself but its too late to be of bother, since whatever it was that happened seems... done? She sits up, the blindfold falling off and her hands coming down to touch where the bloody punctures had been. The skin is smooth. "Hijo de puta..." she murmurs under her breath, hilariously bending forward to try and get a closer look at her ribs. Convinced its real, gray eyes slide back to the man responsible, wide with wonder. "Tell me how, without using the words 'ion' or 'particle beam'."
Bart Bart is pushing the engine-like apparatus back up into the angle of the ceiling while it cools. The monitor already having been pushed to the side. He is finally lifting his hands up to remove the goggles, setting them ontop of his head to send his brown hair in an awkward, peacock-like arch. Blinking a few times from behind the cracked glasses he huffs almost immediately at the question, thinking long and hard for a moment he finally just says, "" After a beat, he tries to explain further, "I'm unsure" error 404, file not found. Excuse him while he vaporlocks and just kinda stares at the half-naked woman for a little bit.
Aris The look on his face now elicits a bit of a chuckle from the woman, a rare sound indeed. "'Nother time, then," she muses as she swings her bare legs over the side of the table, using this angle to get a better look at the healed flesh. Her finger presses along it tenderly, like it might still be sore. It isn't. "Looks like you get caps instead of buck shot, 'doc'." That last word is said in a way that makes it clear she reckons he, well, isn't.
Bart Bart swallows audibly and then stammars a bit before finally getting out, "I suppose I could attempt to explain the process in laymen's terms it will just take me some time," he suggests before watching her poke. Another job well done he decides before turning back towards Aris directly. "Oh no no, that title is reserved for the learned gentlemen of the past. There are no formal schools of medicine in the apocalypse after all," he seems actually saddened by this. But this is a Ravenclaw right here; knowledge for knowledge's sake. "Seeing as you seemed truly injured, an introductory fee of twenty five caps will suffice. Next time it will cost you more however," he notes all business like. "What does the star mean?" he finally asks, because he's seen it on her twice now, once in tattoo, and a second time on the locket. He's annoyingly observant and socially ungraceful enough to broach the subject of his curiosity without shame or hesitation.
Aris "Sure thing, doc," she continues to call him, perhaps because it seemed to fluster him before. "You can start by telling me what a 'laymen' is, first." Is she fucking with him? She's half-grinning. Maybe she's fucking with him. Either way, she gingerly slides off the table and moves to her haphazard pile of belongings, fishing in the pockets for something. Once it's secured, she goes to meet him, thirty caps in hand. "Five for the blood on your door," she muses, pressing the caps into his hands whether he'll have them or not. At his question, though, dark brows raise, and it's clear she's surprised he's noticed. And surprised that she's surprised, as if she's never surprised. "Texas Commonwealth flag," the dark haired girl answers.
Bart Bart simply squints at her when she insists on calling him 'Doc' again. Mad Doc Bart had a ring to it out here in the Western themed Wastelands. Whether or not she's fucking with him, it's very quickly clear that subtle flies right over his head, she's going to have to be blunt with this one. "Laymen is a person without knowledge on a particular subject of study. In this case, someone who has not studied everything involving medicine, biology, physics and other areas of scientific study needed to understand what it is that I do," he explains without missing a beat. The caps press into his hand and he quickly tucks them into his lap coat pocket for now. "Alberta will thank you, I'm sure," he says rather dryly until he notes her surprise. His own eyes widen some, with a very tacit curiosity. His head tilts some, "Why do you bear the Texas Commonwealth flag on your person in ink as well as on a necklace?" keep answering, he'll keep diving it seems.
Aris When he describes what a 'layman' is, the woman actually bursts out laughing. It only stops when she realizes he isn't fucking with her and is actually explicating it for her. "Oh hell," she chuckles, smiling bigger than anyone in El Dorado's seen thus far. Don't tell, it'll ruin her reputation. "You're somethin', boyo." Perhaps it dawns on her to get dressed, now that metal is no longer hazardous to... whatever it was hazardous to before, but his probing questions delay her retreat. "S'where I was born, grew up. Ain't cha got anything that reminds you of home?" she asks, her thumb idly rubbing the tattooed star on her wrist.
Bart Bart is an awkward nerd, but he manages a somewhat disarming quality that brings people's guards down. Probably because it's obvious that there are no ulterior motives here, this man doesn't have time or skill in lying. The smile earns one of his own but disappears at being called 'somethin'. Not that he minds it, it's just that he's attempting to process why it makes him grin a little stupid at the corner of his mouth. The idea of pants and the forgetting of them is not uncommon for Mr. Knox, so he's not judging. Who has time for pants anyways? "I. Well, I mean I am home," he says quietly, even if his Mid-Atlantic fancy accent speaks of being born and raised on the East Coast. Clearly she's going to have to get used to the man who takes things rather literally.
Aris She'd been watching his smile, but then he says that thing and her eyes come up, dark brows furrowing over them openly. "No, like... -home-," she tries to articulate, maybe starting to understand the buttons you gotta push with this guy. Like, the button that turns 'literally' off. "Where you were brought up. A place that's special to you." She searches his eyes for understanding. Surely this was easier than particle beams!
Bart Bart still hasn't figured out why his brother is obsessed with cleavage yet! She explains again and he is furrowing his own brows, trying to wrap his brain around the walnut she's giving him. There's a soft sound, not quite obstinance personified. "I was brought up in New Maine," he explains, "but that was just a place. I," he pauses and then admits, "My brother is special to me, Milton," he explains. Then suddenly he's rife with actual embarassment. "My manners!" he practically squeaks, "My name is Bartholomew Caden Knox, it is a pleasure to meet you, and well..treat you," he supposes realizing his social faux pas there, he is pretty sure the politeness police are going to bust in at any moment and bust him even as he extends his hand to the still pantsless woman in greeting.
Aris This revelation about his brother earns him a little grin and a knowing nod. "People can be 'home', too," she offers, but doesn't expect it to land. He'd probably just try to argue that people are carbon-based organisms. Not that she knows any of those words, but it doesn't matter, because he startles her out of her thoughts with his hour-late introduction. She nods, proffering her hand in a gesture that doesn't seem to come easy to her: a handshake. With dried blood, at that. "Name's a mouthful, boyo. You go by anything shorter?" If he'll meet her handshake, she'll offer her name, simply "Aris". Sounds like 'heiress', not that she knows that word, either.
Bart Bart just squints at her because this is a concept that escapes him. Partical physics and theoretical medicine? He's golden. Feelings, and He's learning slowly. Blood and guts don't seem to bother him and he shakes her hand sticky blood and all. "Bart," he sighs out, "If you must." The returned name is repeated once or twice under his breath, getting the feel of it and making sure he remembers it later. He meets so many people these days. That hand shake though. Hand shakes must be like, his favorite thing, because he gives /that/ all he's got! Shake-shake-shake-shake-shake. Super enthusiastic until he finally lets go and nods, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Aris. Oh, should you require gunsmithing work, or other repairs, I can also take care of those," he notes quickly, trying to remember the sales pitch too.
Aris "Oh I must," Aris teases about his name, still half-grinning. "Bartholomew's liable to get stuck on my tongue." Eventually she withdrawals her hand, confident it's thoroghly shaken now, and finally moves to go get dressed. Except now he's said that thing about guns. "You fix people -and- make the things that tear 'em up in the first place?" she asks, eyes glancing over toward that rail gun she'd looked at so reverently before.
Bart Bart harumphs just a little when she insists on it, rolling his eyes just a little at her half-grin. She's enjoying this and he can tell. A more aware man might have used that as an opening to flirt, but he just huffs a little. She goes to get dressed and once more distracted from her objective of pants. "Oh yes!" He exclaims with no lack of pride in his work, "I study all forms of science I can get my hands on. I work on firearms, energy weapons, chems, medicine," he pauses and looks up to make sure there isn't that glassy look in her eyes.
Aris Guns? Weapons?? Drugs??? No glassy-eyed looks here. Her shotgun (and pants, apparently) forgotten, she moves across the metal room toward that rail gun that's been callin' her name this whole time. She doesn't dare touch it, keeping a respectful distance, but glances over her shoulder at him instead and muses, "Show me."
Bart She might very well be the first woman in history that's managed to make Bartholomew Knox's eyes widen in sudden and very obvious desire. But it's a strange kind. Show her. Oh he will! There's a kind of glee in his gaze that's undeniable as he quickly starts moving things around in the lab. At one end a heavy leaden plate that looks like it's been blasted to hell and back again already. But it's still there. He smiles at her, and nods, "Bring it here?" he has a table on the opposite end of the room with sandbags and a small stool behind it. Tools are neatly organized on the workbench and there's a very obvious rest for someone testing such big guns to shoot the lead plate.
Aris Bart's reaction seems to amuse her, but not for long, because now he's asked her to touch it. You know, the gun. "Ain't gotta ask twice," Aris murmurs, lifting the weapon with a sort of reverence and carrying it to him. Her thumb plays against a bit of metal in appreciation. "You built it?" she asks, her voice still tinged with a little incredulity.
Bart Bart helps her settle the beast down into its cradle, and he gently pats the stool in indication that she should sit down. He is going to let her pull Velma's trigger it seems. He flicks a switch on the side and the capacitor starts charging up. "I found the M72 Gauss rifle, and learned to modify it," he explains before telling her, "Charge," a button is depressed to show her. The thing whirrs to life on the table, an almost feminine sound until it hits a plateau. "Then just line up and fire, a warning, she kicks," he smiles almost serenely at the weapon.
Aris Aris sits where indicated, bare legs and all, and the way her eyes light up at the sound of the rifle powering up is embarassingly obvious. But, when he tells her to line up and fire, she turns her face to look at him. "You charge for the fixin' but not for the blastin', Bart?" the girl muses, unbelieving still.
Bart Another man would have captured this moment for a spank bank. Gorgeous, strong woman sittin' pantsless in their personal shooting range firing off a giant gun? The author gets it! There's a blank stare and he blinks, "One is a business, this is not," he seems pretty comfortable with the idea, besides he's getting to show off his handiwork. "Now, minding that this a gauss rifle base, the projectile and the feeder have been altered for full metal jacket, while the capacitor has been increased for a double upgrade in punching power," he explains and then stands off to the side to let her fire off Velma.
Aris "Maybe it should be," Aris supposes about it being not a business with one of those half-grins. No time for a reply, though, because now she's squaring up behind the rail gun, touching it tentatively at first, and then more confidently. It may become apparent now that she knows her way around a gun, maybe a little too well, for someone who's probably a farmhand (she's got a bit of hay in her hair, it's pretty obvious). With a softly murmured, "Tres, dos, uno..." Aris breathes out smoothly and pulls the trigger, bracing herself for the kick he'd warned her about.
Bart That strikes Bart some and he has to think about it even as she counts down to herself. The squeeze of the trigger is smooth, it slides right up to the break, and the snap over is clean. And just like that the charge unloads and the 2mm slug is rocketed through the coils and sped up until it snaps out the barrel and into the leaden plate. It would take full powered armor to avoid this thing ripping through the plates, the bullet embeds itself into that plate so very deeply and satisfyingly. Velma does kick against Aris' shoulder hard, making her bracing worth while as she's squarely jerked into that stool. Bart is grinning like the Cheshire cat at seeing his baby perform for someone.
Aris "Holy shit!" the dark haired woman exclaims, eyes wide at the damage she's done to that plate. She glances between the gun and its maker. "I'll take 'er! Thirty caps, call it even?" The tone says she's kidding. Kidding, Bart. Standing up off the stool, she goes to inspect the dented metal plate more closely. For some reason, her half-nakedness seems to mean literally nothing to her even now. "What's 'er name?" Aris asks suddenly. She turns and grins at him. "Man don't make a gun like that and not name 'er."
Bart Bart is still gleefully grinning and wide-eyed at her as she makes that joke, he takes it as teasing or at least it seems so at first. Until, "No deal," is uttered in a mumble of a grump. Even if she is kidding. The pantsless woman is watched as she dances over to inspect her damage. "Velma," he says without thinking, he doesn't even know to be ashamed of such things, really. Smiling a little bit, because Aris seems to understand!
Aris Her responding laugh is lilting. Not at 'Velma', but at, "'No deal', he says," she grins, shaking her dark hair a bit as she touches the indentation. Yup, it's real. With an almost wistful sigh, Aris moves back toward her belongings, perhaps unsurprisingly putting her locket back on first. "Well, Velma is one helluva woman." Gray eyes settle on Bart again, her brows furrowing a little when they do, like she's stumbled across something puzzling. Her hands reach for her jeans next.
Bart Everything about Mad Bart's Crazy Laboratory is surprisingly or maybe unsurprisingly real. Mad science as it was, it's science that works here. Her lilting laugh, her wistful sighs, he's keyed into Aris' reactions to his inventions like a nervous nancy, seeking some approval and headpats. She finally gets around to putting on trousers and it's about then that he finally realizes she hasn't been wearing pants this whole time. Cue the awkward blushing and he just smiles at her compliment, "Thank you," because honest praise deserves honest gratitude. But her puzzlement has him, and ever the curious sort, he clings to it maddeningly, "Something wrong?"
Aris Aristide's as honest as she is reckless. And she's pretty damn reckless. "Not wrong, no," she answers plainly, pulling that denim up and wriggling 'til it's snug on her hips. The waistline is crusted with blood, but it doesn't seem to bother her none. "Just not what I expected, is all." It's unclear whether she's talking about Bart or Velma. She's looking at Bart.
Bart Bart headtilts slightly, keeping his gaze focused on her face, despite the wiggle-hop involved in getting herself back into those denim jeans. That? /That/ is when he notices all the blood stains on her clothing and he wrinkles his nose some, "If you wish, I can have Alberta give your clothing a scrub," he offers, not really following that plan all the way thru to the logistical errors, because he has a fix and it's simple. But she has him slightly confounded and he's puzzling over her still, "What were you expecting?"
Aris She grins, amused at his kind (albeit unconventional) offer. "Thinkin' you just want me to hand these clothes over so I don't have any to wear," Aris muses. KIDDING. "Pretty smart, doc." But she shakes her head a bit, touching her hand to the bloody hole in her shirt. "No need. Little blood never hurt no one." Tying her last boot on, she moves back toward Bart now, tilting her chin up to meet his puzzled gaze. "A doctor, for one," she answers with a half-grin. But then, "And someone a helluva lot less interesting, for another."
Bart Bart's eyebrows both loft upwards at the accusation because he legitimately wasn't thinking that far ahead, "Madame," he counters in that scoffing old-timey way, "I should think Alberta would have the sense to cloth you," he imagines at least, because the woman thinks of all the practical shit he forgets - like breakfast. "Indeed! Well. Excepting in the circumstances of viral outbreak, or the strains of mutants that transmit through blood," he starts rattling off the logical issues there, but not with her taking all of her clothes off. "Oh, well, I supose I am sorry to disappoint," he thinks this is the proper response? It's clear he's a bit in uncharted waters.
Aris Viral outbreak? Strains of Mutants? Aris's getting that cloudy-eyed look again. Perhaps to stop the onslaught of scientific terminology and apologies, the woman stands on the tips of her boots and sneaks a kiss to Bart's cheek. If that doesn't stop it, she don't know what will. "That's for Velma," she grins, though if it were, why didn't she kiss the gun? She steps away, then, to gather up the shotgun she brought with her. Probably couldn't smuggle the rail gun out instead, no matter how lucky she is.
Bart Bart watches the glassy eyed effect slide in and he ahems. But before he can change tracks, there's a press of her lips against his slightly scruffy cheek and she is correct. He shuts right the fuck up. For Velma, yes, cough, Velma. He's clearing his throat and trying to find words and only coming out with a slight coughing sound. Yeah, there's some things that can make him blush when it comes to interactions. That is apparently one of them. "Um, thank you for coming," he says as she gathers her things. "If you are injured again, please feel free to drop by. Or if you would like to get that gun improved some. I'm always paying for scrap and collector bottle caps," he mentions.
Aris "Back to business, hm?" Aris muses, settling that shotgun under her arm. Judging by the way she's handling it, she's not particularly attached to it. Maybe it's not hers at all. She lingers near the door to the attic, rubbing her ribs through the hole in her shirt, perhaps thinking unconsciously that it should hurt although it doesn't. "'Magine that's not the first hole this town'll put in me. I'll keep you in mind." Gray eyes watch him, waiting for him to see her out. Seems the proper thing to do for a man so concerned with propriety.
Bart Bart stares at her just a little bit oddly at first, was he dodging something he shouldn't be? Oh god is he missing social cues?! There is a miniature melt down right in front of her before he reboots and suddenly he's smiling again, "Milton says I don't push my profitable ventures enough," he says in that conspiratorial way. When she lingers she is rewarded with the gentleman sliding his arm through hers and escorting her down the steps carefully. Wouldn't want her to get startled by something like, "Now I must warn you that there are sometimes .. odd side effects of the treatment. Do not be alarmed if you scream in color?" he offers with that I-don't-know-how-to-play-innocent voice. "But if you can get over that, I look forward to seeing you the next time something puts a hole in you," he says all-too cheerily. They're down the landing passing the bedrooms. One door closed, one open and simply filled with books - his clearly. Down into the main foyer where they reach the front door that he opens for her.
Aris Judging by her reaction, this is very literally the first time anyone has taken Aris's arm. Her expression is a mix of confusion and bemusement, although perhaps a little more toward the latter. Bart's bit about side effects doesn't seem to disturb her, but she does answer, "If anything gets too outta sorts, I'll be back to pay you that buckshot." Half-grinning, she steps out the door he's holding open into the early evening. It's warm enough that insects sing. Aris glances back, studying him for a moment before offering, "G'night."
Bart Aris passes the garden, the abandoned watering can and that Wasteland Weed. The Knox house behind her is quiet, much like the man that stands there on the porch watching her leave with a curious tilt of his head. He can't quite tell if he enjoyed the interaction or loathed it. It's so hard to tell volatile emotions when you're so driven by logic and reason. Instead, he finds a joint in his Lab pocket and puts it to his lips, a match is struck against the door frame and he takes a long drag. Suddenly he turns around and the door isn't even shut before he's calling out, "Alberta! Prepare the siphon pumps, we need to begin sterilization process!"